Say Amen for the Cannabis-Infused Moonshine of Ghana

Ghana, a small nation nestled between the Ivory Coast and Togo, offers a thriving nightlife and delicious, delirious drinks, but you have to know where to go. Luckily, I was visiting my American friend and her Ghanaian husband, who is a prominent member of the Ga tribe, in the capital city of Accra. He knew the town like a priest knows the Bible, and I was promised a fun night out.

Little did I know how it would end.

We started off at an upscale bar in the Osu district that's been heralded for fancy drinks made with akpeteshie, or Ghanaian palm moonshine. Akpeteshie is strong enough to put hair on your nipples, and it's a favorite among hardcore drinkers in Ghana, as it is cheap and extremely efficient at getting you drunk. You can purchase shots of akpeteshie in most dive bars for 50 pesuas, less than 15 cents US. Republic, meanwhile, offers frozen akpeteshie-based drinks for 12 cedis, or around $3.

I had been in Accra for over a week, and the number of Caucasians I had seen prior could be counted on one hand. Looking around at Republic, I said to my friend, "So this is where the white people are at."

We didn't stay long. I ordered a tasty number resembling a mojito, which was blended with brown sugar and mint, but my friends were anxious to introduce me to their favorite elixir at the next stop.

After a short drive, we arrived at another Osu locale to partake in the delights of a drink named Amen—a cocktail of marijuana-infused akpeteshie, Sprite, and other "secret" ingredients. My friend explained that it was named Amen because it will make you feel like you have to go to church after you drink it. The bar owner put it more succinctly: It'll make you say Amen and knock you the fuck out.

We walked into the tiny indoor space, which resembled a 70s man-cave. It was heavily air-conditioned, the cool air thick with the smell of mothballs. After a few rambunctious salutations between my friend's husband and the owner, our order was placed with the bartender. She lined up our plastic cups (adorned with crazy straws and ice) on the dark wood bar before grabbing a two-liter Sprite bottle and pouring a forest green liquid to the brim.

With my first sip, I knew the evening was about to be taken to the next level. The weed, earthy and herby, dominated the drink; mixed with the sweetness of Sprite and the strength of the akpeteshie, it made for a powerful punch. I jerked my head to the side and raised an eyebrow as my lips formed into a punctuated "O," letting out a breathy whistle. Though hefty as hell, it was scrumptious. I dove in for a second sip, and a refreshing, fiery sensation took root in my belly. I smiled and toasted my friend: "Hallelujah!"

We went outside to the temperate, subtropical evening and found seats at ramshackle tables on the side of the road. The nightlife of Accra was spilling into the streets as locals turned cars into tabletops and stood chatting or dancing on the asphalt. Music filled the air.

My friend ordered another Amen for us to share. The liquor was coursing through my blood stream, but I knew the weed would take some time to kick in.

Despite the fact that it is illegal here, Ghana has a laid-back approach to marijuana. The tribe that my friend's husband is from, the Ga, are known to be Rastas and smoke ganja liberally. Joints had been passed around frequently during my time in Accra. The availability of weed seemed to be as abundant as "Hail Marys" in a Catholic confessional.

We finished our Amens and headed to the next destination: a proper English pub named Honeysuckle, where the DJ looked like he had lost his way after a long party binge in Manchester during the 90s and never found his way back home.

It was then that I noticed the casino-esque print of the pub's carpet beginning to swirl.

For me, as with many people, ingesting weed has a much more psychedelic effect than smoking it. I battened down the hatches for a full-on Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas momentum to set in. I went to the bathroom, and as I came out, my perception shifted. People playing pool in the smoke-filled room looked like I was watching them on a movie screen at the end of a tunnel. The slight incline in the floor made me feel like I was walking up an escalator moving backwards. I could've sworn I heard angels singing outside in the sub-Saharan African wind.

Undeterred by this, we chugged a couple of Savannahs (a popular Ghanaian cider) and moved on.We drove around on dark, dusty, bumpy roads past checkpoints with police armed with machine guns, careening to and from hidden clubs around the city. The night became a blur after the alcohol of the Savannahs trumped the THC. I watched gals shake their shit with a fervor that made Miley Cyrus look like a newborn fawn finding her footing.

In the haze, I think I started speaking in tongues. I remember feeling glorious, soaring like a halo. I was in heaven.